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  • Writer's pictureKayley Taylor

Blues

Do you ever find yourself sifting through all the blues in this world, wondering which one is real? The depths of an ocean dazzles even the moon, such a blue transforms the tide. It pulls you in with a wonder - a question mark that tingles ever so sweetly on the tip of your tongue. As if strawberries and champagne kissed one hue in this world, and that one hue was blue. Enchanting is the melody that hums a rhythm of midnight glass slippers turned 3 a.m. bewitching spells. Are the words magic, or is it instead the night upon which those words were spoken? Galactic cartwheels spin the heavens, each day a shade of blue different from the day before. Mountain tops revel in their own reflections rising up from the valley lakes below. Why does the rain stain the sky with it's rainbows, only after it falls? Dewdrops like snowflakes are once-in-a-lifetime one of a kind - the atmosphere tethers their existence to a single moment, and then, gone. Is it the blues that so quickly wither away their time here with us? Can such beauty be so sad their life is but a glimpse through broken window panes on the other side of a story that has no beginning, only endings? Paint a picture, the palette would be a revolving wheel of blues. Your very breath freezes, it is a losing battle against the air, yet we touch, over and over and over. Ice crystals settle a glaze of frost upon our lips, honeyed peach tints turn blue. Still we breathe, still we need to draw the ache of such bitter cold into ourselves. Days of waiting for the warmth of a familiar glow to illuminate the blues haunts our reality; shutters our thoughts away behind a rust that has corroded the spark so deep within our very souls. Yet, still it echoes, like the tinkling bells of a mountain stream winding round and round upon a carousel that never plays out of tune. We are the afterglow left by the hues every golden sunrise, every velvet violet sunset, and every star-soaked ocean dream became - after the blues...

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